I SAT unsphering Plato ere I slept: Then through my dream the choir of gods was borne, Swift as the wind and splendid as the morn, Fronting the night of stars; behind them swept Tempestuous darkness o'er a drear descent, Wherein I saw a crowd of charioteers Urging their giddy steeds with cries and cheers, To join the choir that aye before them went: But one there was who fell, with broken car And horses swooning down the gulf of gloom; Heavenward his eyes, though prescient of their doom, Reflected glory like a falling star, While with wild hair blown back and listless hands Ruining he sank toward undiscover'd lands. |